


Have You Ever Wondered Why?

by The_Clockwork_King



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Clockwork_King/pseuds/The_Clockwork_King
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Told through Carlos' notes on Nightvale and all their scientifically interesting information, Cecil's diary (filled with all the things he cannot say on his job, no matter how it pains him), and the writings of a very observant Hooded Figure, this fanfic tells us all that is known of just what is going on in Nightvale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carlos' First Day-The Hooded Figure

_The Notes of the Mysterious Hooded Figure_

Carlos never would have known about Nightvale if it hadn't been for the dreams. Every night, visions of a place in the desert where men and women in gas masks scurried past the Hooded Figures, nodded to, but denied the existence of the Angels (which, he had to admit, was an impressive feat), and every morning he woke up with nothing in his mind except pair of coordinates. Carlos finally heard the name Nightvale after two weeks of dreaming, spoken by a man with a soothing voice. A man who had shown up in every dream for the last week, but whose face he had never seen. A man he knew was named Cecil Baldwin.

At first, he passed them off as an odd dream phenomenon, because he was a scientist, and scientists do not believe in a town that could not possibly exist. But, after two months, Carlos was more believer than skeptic. And then he did something a scientist should never do-he indulged his dreams, indulged Nightvale. He looked it up. And got one hit-a website, a blog, written by someone who had the very same dreams that he'd been having. And there were more of them; Six scientists so far, and those was only the ones who had talked.

Carlos got in touch with the one who had written the blog-a woman named Mitzie. They arranged a meeting to discuss Nightvale. In two weeks time, Carlos had met all of them- Felisha(zoologist), Mitzie(anthropologist), Bernadette(psychologist), Dennis(geologist), and John(botanist), and they were on their way, their equipment all packed into six trucks, one for each. Carlos himself worked as a chemist who had his fingers in every type of scientific pie there was.

They reached the coordinates, uncomfortable, hot and sweaty. They drove right through, although there appeared to be nothing at first. And then, quite suddenly, they were in a town that had not existed moments before. Standing nervously in front of their trucks was a multi headed and bodied creature, wringing all seven pairs of his (or was it her?) hands.

At first, Carlos wondered if they had come face to face with the Roman god Janus, but no. There were too many faces, too many bodies all fused together, too many legs and too many hands. Each and every one of the scientists slammed on their brakes and quickly left their cars, cameras in hand.

"H-hello! The void told us to expect some new Outsiders today. We have something set up for you, a sort of lab, and we have all your living spaces set up. If you'll follow me, I can show you to them."

Carlos spoke first. "Er, not to be rude, but who...or what...are you?"

All its eyes opened wide. "Oh, sorry! We've never had such high-ranking outsiders before, and it's just..." it cleared all its throats. "Sorry. We're the city council."

"You're...the...the" John fainted. Bernadette rolled her eyes and slung John over her shoulder.

"Is he all right?" the City Council asked, all its eyes swiveling to face her.

"Yes. He's fine. You're just...a lot to take in."

"Ah, right. Outsiders, follow me in your cars."

The scientists shared glances, but all of them got into their cars anyway. The City Council waited until they had all started their cars and then took off, running as fast as a car could go. The scientists were hard-pressed to follow them.

Carlos doesn't remember all the things that happened next.

He remembers being shown to a labratory, shown to the city hall, shown the Dog Park, being handed a list of rules and a map and told to have a good day whether he wanted to or not. The scientists set down their equipment and dispersed to experiment on whatever they pleased, or meet people they remembered from the dreams. Carlos went to meet the man who hosted the local radio show. As he drove, he turned up the radio, which couldn't be turned off, only down.

"A new man came into town today. Who is he? What does he want from us? Why his perfect and beautiful haircut? Why his perfect and beautiful coat? He says he is a scientist. Well. We have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives. But why now? Why here? And just what does he plan to do with all those breakers and humming electrical instruments in that lab he's renting? The one next to Big Rico's Pizza. No one does a slice like Big Rico...no one."

Carlos frowned. That didn't bode well for them...and that voice...Cecil? He was the radio host?

And the "perfect and beautiful" was a little rude. It couldn't be any of the other men, since they were both bald. Carlos didn't appreciate anyone's sarcasm but his own, and his looks were a little bit of a sore point for him.

You see, Carlos isn't the traditional kind of handsome. He's more of the clumsy, geeky scientist kind. And, due to his clumsiness, he got injured often. He had a scar down his nose from an accident with a laser, his jaw was a little crooked from when he'd broken it, and one of his hands was badly scarred from an accident with hydrochloric acid.

So Carlos thought "Cecil fawning over me must be a silly practical joke. Maybe he thinks it would help me or something. Either way, I can set him straight about this."

After all he'd spent so much time looking like that, he'd gotten used to it. He turned the radio to a dull hum just at the edge of his perception, and in a couple of minutes was turning into the radio station's parking lot. He caught sight of a horrible creature with tentacles and a Cheshire smile squeezing its way into the door, and decided to come back later. 

* * *

 

At noon, The City Council arrived on their lab doorstep (the lab served as their home for the time being) and announced that the scientists were expected to speak at city hall at one o'clock. They insisted, speaking in unison, despite the scientists' protests that they needed to study all the scientifically fascinating samples they had taken from around the little town. So, the scientists drew straws to see who would be speaking (Carlos got the short one) and were on their way, piled into Carlos' van, which had been divested of equipment a few hours prior.

Carlos stood at the podium, feeling calmer than he really should have considering who he was speaking to. He picked out a couple of people he remembered.

There was old woman Josie and the angels, there was John Peters (y'know, the farmer?). And standing at the back was a man who, despite having nothing at all about him that made him stand out, caught Carlos' attention.

The man was not tall nor short, not thin nor fat, not quite handsome and yet not unpleasant to look at. He had white-blond hair and eyes that were his favorite color-purple. But not just any purple, oh no. The exact shade as the sign they had driven past on their way in. The one that said "Welcome to Nightvale" in dripping bloody cursive. Carlos thought it was probably just a coincidence. The man smiled uncertainly at him, revealing two rows of long, sharp teeth. Carlos saw an odd white smudge on his forehead.

Carlos decided to look away and start the meeting.

"Hello, er, citizens of Nightvale. My name is Carlos, and I am representing a group of scientists who came here from various parts of the US to study this town. We don't know how long we will be here, but we know it will be quitte a while, because Nightvale is by far the most scientifically interesting community in the US, and we've come to study just what is going on around here!"

Carlos grinned as though public speaking came easily to him, thanked them, and made a hasty retreat. The man at the back of the room smiled again, less uncertainly this time, and watched Carlos go.

* * *

On their way back, Carlos turned the radio back up in time to hear Cecil saying "That new scientist, we now know, is named Carlos. He called a town meeting. He has a square jaw and teeth like a military cemetery. His hair is perfect, and we all hate and despair and love that perfect hair in equal measure. Old Woman Josie brought corn muffins, which were decent, but lacked salt. She said the angels had taken her salt for a godly mission, and she hadn't yet gotten around to buying more. Carlos told us that we are, by far, the most scientifically interesting community in the U.S, and he had come to study just what was going on around here! He grinned, and everything about him was perfect. And I fell in love instantly. " The other scientists laughed, and Carlos tried not to crash the car. He couldn't believe this man! What right did he have to joke about something like that? And Carlos didn't even know what he looked like...or did he? Purple eyes and a shark's smile flashed through his mind, but he pushed it out immediately. He wouldn't know until he visited the radio station and met Cecil. Carlos frowned and ran and hand through his hair, and was struck with a sudden thought- wasn't there a barber in town? What was his name? Tally? No, Telly. Well, Carlos thought, let's see how Cecil reacts to a little trim. But first, to the Desert Creek housing development for him. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	2. Carlos' Notes-Glow Cloud

_Carlos' Notes_

There is a glowing cloud moving in from the west. I'm not sure what's causing it, but it is glowing and changing colors. At the moment, it is purple. Earlier, it was orange, and then blue, and then green. I've listened to the radio. It apparentely makes a low whisteling sound when it is in earshot. Cecil says that one death has already been attributed to the glow cloud, although I'm not certain how they could know. It appears to be raining something.

The Sherriff's Secret police (I'm not sure how they are different or more secret than the regular police, or indeed, if there are any regular police) have suggested that citizens run directly at the cloud, shrieking and waving their arms (just to see what it does). May take some equipment over to do tests on it.

There was an incedent at the Night Vale post office that I missed, having been busy with the seismic shifts and the house that does not exist. Apparentely, there was a great howling heard from within that staff claim no knowledge of. The Apache Tracker (who is a white guy who wears a racist and innaccurate Native headdress) says he snuck in using ancient indian magiks and found the words "More to come, and soon" written in blood on the walls. Bernadette has gone off to speak with him, and says she'll interveiw some of the postal workers to see if we can get a clearer picture.

The Radio Station seems to have unhealthy levels of radiation. I also brought my EMF detector directly into Cecil's booth-It went absolutely nuts, and begun showing the levels in unreadable runes. I tried to get Cecil out, but he refused and seemed puzzled by my concern. When I told him about the radiation, he laughed and told me that it was always like that, and I didn't need to worry. I rather forgot to mention the joke he's been playing on me (and ask him to stop fawning over me).

The citizens of Night Vale are quite odd. Cecil Baldwin himself is quite unusual-he has fangs, sharp teeth, and tentacles. He has an odd painted third eye on his forehead (I'm not sure why). Old Woman Josie is normal, but the Angels (who all go by the name Erika) make up for it. They have feathered wings (about 10ft wingspan), eyes all over their body, and hollow bones. They make trumpeting noises, smile a lot, and glow. One of them is black and instead of glowing, seems to suck all of the light out of wherever he goes. He leaves a shadowy imprint for about ten seconds whenever he moves. Cecil's Station Management appears to be a sentient shadow-the only part of it that isn't smoky and black is his (or her) smile. It stretches from one side of its regularly-shaped head to the other. It can change the shape of its limbs-sometimes it has tentacles, sometimes paws, sometimes hooves.

There is a cat floating in the men's bathroom in the radio station. At least, I assume it is a cat. It's a little hard to tell, as it has six legs and screeches instead of meowing. Felisha came in to see it, and insists that despite the cat being male, it is pregnant.

The glow cloud is raining small dead animals now. Lizards, armadillos, crows, etc. Nobody seems to be concerned. In fact, Cecil suggested that parents take their children out and use the cloud's constantly changing hue to teach their children the names of colors.

* * *

 

Apparentely, the Sherriff's Secret police are looking for a fugitive named Hiram McDaniels, who is wanted for insurance fraud. This is an interesting story, as Hiram is apparentely a five headed dragon with mostly green eyes who is approxamately eighteen feet tall and weighs around thirty six hundred pounds. he was last seen flying and shreiking over Red Mesa.

I was listening to the radio, and I happened to heart this week's community calendar. On Saturday, we will all apparentely forget the Night Vale library, as it is undergoing renovations. Sunday is apparentely Dot Day (red dots on what you love, blue dots on what you don't and mixing them up causes permanent concequences?). Tuesday there is a bake sale to support a blood-space war? I'm not sure what that means. And apparentely wednsday has been canceled. Due to a scheduling error. I don't understand what that means, or how you can screw up scheduling the week.

* * *

 

The Glow Cloud is now enveloping all of Night Vale. When you look out the window, the sky is filled with colors. Different parts of the cloud glow in different colors. The humming is drowning out everything else, except the radio. Cecil is saying...Cecil is....

_The Glow Cloud does not need to converse with us._

**_I t      d  o  e  s     n  o   t       f  e  e  l    a  s     w e    t  i n  y     h  u  m  a  n s    f   e  e  l._ **  
****_  
I  t       h  a  s      n o     n  e  e  d       f  o  r      t  h  o  u  g  h  t  s       o  r      f  e   e  l   i  n  g  s     o  f      l  o  v  e._   
****__  
T  h  e    G  L  O  W  C  L O  U  D     s  i  m p  l y    I S.      A  L  L      H  A   I  L      T  H  E     M  I  G H T Y      G L O W  C L O U D.  


* * *

 

Sorry, I'm not quite sure what happened there. My notebook is filled with words I didn't write, and I cannot erase. It smells faintly of...vanilla. Cecil went through something similar, I believe. He's alking about how he tried to play back the tapes, but they are empty and smell of vanilla as well. And...and the letters are fading in my notebook. What just happened?  
 ** _  
_**

 


	3. Station Management Gets A Surprise-The Mysterious Hooded Figure

The Notes Of The Mysterious Hooded Figure

Carlos visited us last night. Here, in the Dog Park! I myself was not present at the time, as I was off lurking under the slide in the Elementary School's playground. But, The One Who Occasionally Openly Steals Babies told me what happened. Carlos entered the Dog Park, calling out to us. We attacked, defending our territory against the Outsider.

If only they had thought it through. Cecil came today to visit, and he was livid. He ripped the doors off their hinges. We tried to intimidate him with our shadows, but he brought his own-and they were stronger. He filled the park with his true form, and his voice shook them until they were all cowering from his wrath. We promised not to hurt the pretty one again.

Oh, it must have been glorious. I've never seen one of his breed angry before.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

There is a new Night Vale stadium. It is to be closed every day save for the tenth of november, the day of our yearly parade. And -get this- Cecil mentioned me in the broadcast! By name! He even said that I was a _favorite_! I'm ashamed to say that I may have swooned a little at that.

Oh dear...Cecil is renegotiating his terms with Station Management, and for once it doesn't sound good. He said too much; he descibed a little of what Station Management looks like, described the office. He should know by now that he's not allowed to do that! Cecil hasn't said exactly what Station Management wrote, but I just know that's it.

Oh, now he's got me worried.

Books have stopped working. The Ones Who Meet In The Dog Park told me that the scientists are doing tests on them. Some of the books have grown teeth, others have begun to reek of rotten meat, still others spark when they are opened and catch fire. They have had to use lethal gas to subdue several of the books with teeth as they have begun attacking the scientists and any other people who pick them up. It's a shame; I quite like books, but the others have locked my books in a chest in the Dog Park, just in case.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A creeping fear came into town earlier. We Hooded Figures were not affected, and neither was Old Woman Josie, due to her angelic protection. The reason we were not affected? We feed off of the terror of Nightvale citizens. The creeping fear was my idea.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Carlos got his hair cut today, and Cecil did not approve. He practically called a manhunt on Telly. I wonder how long it's going to be before Telly dissapears or goes mad.

I hope it's soon-I don't really want him to suffer.

"Two hawk-eyed informants sent in reports that Carlos, our curious scientific visitor, was seen getting his beautiful, beautiful hair cut. He was having his gorgeous hair _shorn_! _CUT!!_ Cut _short_!! So _very short_, from his perfectly shaped, brilliant head!! Listeners. I am not one to gossip, even if it is a local celebrity, but please, explain to me why Carlos would strip away, DECIMATE, any part of his thick black hair, not to ignore the dignified, if premature, touch of gray at the temples?!! What treacherous barber should agree to such depravity? _Who takes mere money_...or even  soulless joy in depriving our small community of such a simple, but important, act as luridly admiring Carlos' stunning coif??! Reports from two intrepid sources are that it was Telly the barber. **_Telly_** , who likes sports and has posters of combs. Telly the barber seems to be the one who betrayed our community. TELLY THE BARBER. It is Telly the barber at the corner of Southwest Fifth Street and Old Mosque Road, with the red and white spinning pole and the sign that says, "Telly's". Telly is about 5'9, with a small mustache and a thick potbelly. He talks with an accent, and sneers. _Telly the barber **cut** Carlos' beautiful hair_...according to reports. TELLY."

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Something's wrong. Cecil is pleading with the Listeners to do a letter writing campaign thing...to Station Management. They were, as I assumed, pissed at Cecil for disclosing what little is known about how they look. At this time, I am writing a letter to Management, telling them about the necessity of having Cecil as the voice of Nightvale. He gives us Hooded Figures the fear and respect we deserve. And how is the prophecy to be fulfilled without him?

Carlos has stopped his experiment, hearing the shrieks of management and Cecil's pleading. He looks nervous. No, not nervous-concerned. He's put down his beakers and has taken out his ballpoint not-pen. He is writing a letter as well.

"I don't ask favors much, dear listeners. That you know. But I am asking all of you, now, to conduct a letter-writing campaign to station management, which was not...pleased with my discussion of their physical attributes and behavior, and is now threatening to shut down my show...or possibly my life. For good. Their wording was...uh, kind of ambiguous. Obviously, we will not be able to deliver the letters directly to the management per se, as no one has ever opened their door, but...we can shout the contents of the letters outside their office, and we presume, given an anatomy that includes ears, they will be able to hear what you have to say! So, if you like this show, and you want to hear more of it...then _we need to hear from you_. Make your voice heard ...to whatever it is that lies in wait behind that darkened office door! OH!! Um...l-listeners, we'll be back after this word from our sponsors!"  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
This is bad. very, very bad. Station Management hasn't left their office for seventy years. The last time they left their office, it was terrible. Half the town was corporeally absorbed. That _was_ before it decided it _wanted_ to run the radion station, but still. Nothing has ever threatened Cecil like it has. Everything else answers to him, in fact. The other Hooded Figures are getting agitated, hissing and making sounds like static.

"...Hello!? Radio audience, I come to you live from under my desk  
...where I've dragged my microphone and am currently hiding in the fetal position. Did you write letters?? Well, _you should not do this anymore_. Station management has opened its door for the first time in my memory and is now roaming the building. I don't exactly know what management looks like, as that is when I took cover under my desk, and I can only hope they aren't listening to what's going out right now or else I may have sealed my fate. I can hear only...a kind of clicking footstep...and faint hissing sound...like releasing steam. An intern went to see what management wanted and has not returned. If you are related to Jerry Hartman, afternoon board operator at Night Vale Community Radio, I am sorry to inform you that he is probably dead, or at least _corporeally absorbed into management **permanently**_. Jerry and Chad, the interns, will both be missed, but we will surely see them in the annual Thanksgiving Day Dead Citizens Impersonation Contest, which this year will be in the employee lounge under the Night Vale Mall from 11 AM to 9:45 PM. There will be a cash bar and two Twister boards...  
...I...I'm going to see if I can make a break for the door. If you don't hear from me again, it has... truly... been a pleasure!   
  
...Goodnight, Night Vale. And... _goodbye_..."

　

Carlos is moving, quicker than I have seen him move before. He's shrugging on his coat, grabbing his car keys. He's opening a drawer and pulling out a...wait, is that a gun?

He's not going to....is he?

He's starting his car, hiding the gun in a compartment under the seat. He's speeding towards the radio station, his face set and determined. Standing on my tiptoes to look over the Dog Park's fence, I can just seee him passing by now.

He's pulling into the radio station's parking lot and...and Station Management is there, hissing and spitting and looming over Cecil, who was bleeding. Carlos is aiming his gun. He fires. Management screeches and turns to face Carlos. Carlos is shaking, but he lets off another shot. It hits one of Managemment's many eyes, and Management backs off, squeezing back into the radio station with a wail. Carlos is picking Cecil up and leading him to his car.  
  
I can't beleive it. Carlos faced down Management and won! He's an outsider; that shouldn't have been possible! Even we have tried and failed. The second Management noticed him, he should have been gone. But he wasn't. And he still isn't.

I'm beginning to think that there is more to our curious scientific visitor than I first thought.


	4. Cecil's Audio Diary and Carlos' Notes On Ep:4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both of these parts are transcripts of audio recordings and stuff.
> 
> Hello! I write for tips. Or, in this case, reviews. *hint hint*

* * *

**Cecil's Audio Diary**

This morning, I woke up in a lab, with a curly-haired angel staring down at me. Okay, it was my Carlos, but there's like, no difference so...

*Excited squeal*

But can you _believe_ it? He faced down _Station Management_ for me! That's so romantic! And he was all like "Cecil" *sigh* and it just sounded so perfect...anyway, he was all like "Cecil, are you alright? Station Management...at least, I _think_ it was Management almost corporeally absorbed you." and then he went on about how I shouldn't try to get up, I was still weak, and how he hadn't managed to take any readings while he was there.

*Lovesick sigh*

He's so into his work...

Anyway, now we have a bond of life over death, and I just hope all of my playing normal hasn't been ruined. I mean, did I try to protect myself at all, or was I just so surprised that I didn't do anything but scream? I don't know.

...wow. Management attacked me. I must have...I don't even know what I did. I mean, I don't remember. They've never...

*voice falters*

I mean, they have, but not like that.

*choked sob*

I...I'm not sure if I can go back. And I have nowhere else to go. Carlos...perfect Carlos said I could stay with him until Management gives me its verdict.

I don't know what I'm going to do if Management says no. They took me in after...hm. That's odd. I don't know what. But they raised me after. I've lived in that radio station ever since I can remember. Most of my knowledge of the town is from my Ajna.

*sad silence*

I guess now I have the chance to explore a little. I-I'm going to go and watch Carlos do sciencey stuff. That might make me feel better.

Bye for now...

* * *

Station Management sent me my contract renewal today, so I returned to the radio station. Station Management shrieked at me when I passed, but thankfully stayed in its office.

I think Carlos had been getting used to me being there. I hope he'll be okay.

*Chuckles sadly*

Of course he will. What is it that he said when I asked to help him with his experiments?

"A scientist is self-reliant. That's the first thing a scientist is."

*sad sigh*

Anyway, I have my show to do. Goodbye for now.

**Carlos' Notes On Episode Four**

Cecil left early this morning. He seemed reluctant to leave, and to be honest, I was just as reluctant to see him go. It was an odd moment, but it passed quickly.

At the moment, half of our team is searching for the missing Pteranodon(s). The other half is researching the odd auras around various household objects collected from around town. There is no data that differentiates these objects from others, save for a heightened EMF level.

*sigh, clinking of flasks*

That's why I'm using this recorder instead of writing in my notebook. That, and the Sheriff's Secret Police complained about me writing with pens and pencils, so I'm waiting for their suspicion to fade.

*Sound of a blender starting up*

What the hell? Ack! I'm going to have to finish this in a moment, the blender is...floating.

"City Council has asked me to read the following message: "If you notice strange auras around any of the following objects in your house: blender, shower head, dog, husband, wife, table, chair, doorknob, baseboard, vacation souvenirs or photos, collectibles of any kind (especially those depicting or involving horses), DVDs (especially _Cliffhanger_ , _There's Something About Mary_ , and _The Wire_ Season Four), and any bagged lettuce from California or Mexico...please, report to the council for indefinite detention."

* * *

We switched *pant* jobs. I found...*pant* I found a Pteranodon. *Panting for a bit* Chasing it. *Screeches, muffled wings flapping*

They're...*pant* removing a lead door *pant* chasing it by there...*pant* I don't *pant* have time to do...*pant* both...

I'm in *pant* Radon *pant* Canyon...shit! *muffled sounds of people talking, then shrieking as paniced pteranadon flies around them* There is no time! No more time! *panting, muffled running* I *pant* lost it just *pant* outside. God damn it! *muffled sounds of Carlos hitting something in rage, cursing*

*phone beeping, sounds of a phone being flipped open*

Yes, this is Carlos Garcias speak- *gasp* What? Is John okay?...¡Dios mío...okay, I'll be there in a moment. *sounds of a flip phone being closed* I-I'll stop the recording here. I'll...I'll record what happened to John later. I have to go to the hospital.

"Speaking of the City Council, it voted this week to remove the large, lead-plated door from the northeasternmost crook of Radon Canyon. You know, the area pulsing with green light and _sotto voce_ bass humming. Proponents of the measure claimed that the large, yellow emblem and red lettering that spelled out, "DANGER! PLUTONIUM! DO NOT OPEN DOOR; RISK OF DEATH" were, at worst, an offensive eyesore and, at best, a "hacky sci-fi cliche". Many Night Vale citizens attended the meeting, including, it was said, several angels- although no angel is admitted to have been present for the City Council meeting, or any other event ever, for that matter. Old Woman Josie agreed with the measure, adding that "lead is a health hazard," and that the old door was "nothing but a ticking time-bomb". According to the meeting minutes, Josie said, "That old door! **_OOOOH, that door!_** Someone's gonna get some kinda lead poisoning!"

Carlos...beautiful Carlos, tragically shorn of his locks...reportedly was the only dissenting voice, but it is not clear he actually opposed the measure, as the minutes only report him stating, "There is no time! No more time!" into a black rectangle in his hand, and then running, winded, from the community hall. According to Old Woman Josie, he was still _absolutely perfect_ , and smelled of lavender chewing gum."


	5. Carlos' Notes on Episode Five

_This again is a transcript of an audio recording of Carlos' in regards to the Shape._

**_The notes of Carlos the scientist_ **

* * *

John is dead. The blender, which had simply been floating when I left, had started up and clamped itself onto his arm. He died of blood loss in the hospital.

Dennis had been in the room with him at the time.

He kissed John, just before he died. He hasn't been the same since then.

He's shut himself into his room.

* * *

I went into his room today when he was sleeping, and I found something. In his nightstand, wrapped up in a silk cloth and hidden in a fancy box, were two simple gold wedding rings. Each had a name carved into it.

 _John,_ said one mockingly.

 _Dennis_ was engraved onto the other.

* * *

There is a... _shape_ in Grove park. Nobody I've spoken to will acknowledge or speak about it, but I've seen it. It's this sort of...shadowy..thing.

*Chuckle*

Wow. Aren't I great with words? Anyway, despite the fact that it is not acknowledged or spoken about, I have managed to deduce from the doublespeak and language of gestures, grimaces and screams that everyone I've asked about it is angry because the City Council is removing it from Grove Park. I wouldn't generally be concerned, but I know that it isn't going to be destroyed; it's simply going to be moved somewhere else.

*Hears vague background noise. It is a radio. Cecil is speaking.*

"...Update on the Shape formerly in Grove Park that no one acknowledges or speaks about: it seems that the City Council, in their superhuman mercy and all-seeing glory, have chosen to move the Shape directly in front of our own radio station, where it is continuing to be what can only be described as...indescribable."

Oh wonderful. The two largest scientific anomalies in the town (that are safe to test on) right next to one another. That'll be fun.

I heard a news story about the Green Market co-op earlier. Apparently, not only is secret domestic espionage a well covered (and not covered up) subject, but it seems to be of no concern. The citizens all seem excited by the fruits and vegetables, but do not seem to care about the rest of the story.

The quarterback for Night Vale's football team has apparently grown a second head. This was, perhaps, a side effect of an apparent...

*voice takes on a confused tone*

Sentient lightning strike? What?...you know what, I don't even know why I ask anymore. Anyway, I'm going to get Mitzie and Bernadette to get an interview from him.

There was something about tarantulas on the radio, and it's got Felicia in a fit. I think she's planning on going out and doing some tests on them. I heard it, but I...

*embarrassed silence, broken by muttered phrases in Spanish*

Well, let's just say I was distracted.

*Someone in high-heeled shoes coming close to recorder. Female voice*

Yeah, cuz you pitch a tent every time you talk to the man.

*Carlos responds*

I do not, Felicia!

*Woman snorts in derision, but doesn't answer. Sounds of someone walking away in high-heeled shoes, papers rustling.*

Sorry, Dr. Day decided to unprofessionally add to my notes there.

* * *

Cecil appears to be having some sort of existential crisis. He is taking everyone's inability to acknowledge or speak about the Shape as...well, I'm not even sure. He's said...well, here I'll play it for you...

*Beeping*

"...Update on the Shape formerly in Grove Park that no one acknowledges or speaks about: it seems that the City Council, in their superhuman mercy and all-seeing glory, have chosen to move the Shape directly in front of our own radio station, where it is continuing to be what can only be described as...indescribable. The Shape was not available for comment, as I could find no one willing to speak to it, or even meet my eye when I mentioned it. It has occurred to me that I may be the only one able to see it. Now that I think about it, I have also never bothered to actually check whether this mic is attached to any sort of recording or broadcasting device. And, it is possible that I am alone in an empty universe, speaking to no one, unaware that the world is held aloft merely by my delusions and my smooth, sonorous voice...more on this story as it develops, I say...possibly, only to myself."

But I'm concerned for Cecil. It's a molten orange color and causing small...actually, just listen

*Sounds of Carlos moving closer to radio*

"There is apparently a sound of a great many voices chanting, as though it were an army giving out a battle cry before raining down destruction on our arid little hamlet! ...Oh? Leland has stopped shouting, and is now writing furiously on a piece of paper. I have to say, Leland's existence, as well as his finally speaking about the Shape that no one else would speak about, has reassured me greatly about my lonely and solipsistic vigil here at this microphone. He is handing me the note- thank you, Leland- let me see, here...ah. It says that the City Council believes the reason for the violent reaction of the Shape formerly in Grove Park that no one acknowledges or speaks about...is...because...I have been acknowledging and speaking about it, which has made it angry. They urge me to stop speaking of it and never do it again. In exchange, they'll move it somewhere else so we can get our front loading zone back.

After brief consideration, I have decided to accept the Council's offer, because they are trustworthy leaders looking out for our better future...and also because Leland just got vaporized by a strange red light emanating from the station entrance."

That's gotten me worried. I think I'll drop by the Radio station just to make sure.

*Woman's laughter*

Shut up Felicia!

Anyway, this is Carlos Garcias recording from Night Vale.

* * *

* * *

**'Sup. I'm tired and not in the mood to write, but anyway thanks for reading and stuff.**


	6. The Power Outage

The power outage hit Carlos' house early in the morning. He heard the shrieking hawks overhead, looked around, and then the lights went out.

CARLOS

"It's dark, and I don't know where I am. I can see, as I found a working flashlight among all the beakers, flasks and other odd pieces of equipment I have no name for.

I know I'm in some sort of lab, but that's all-I don't know who I am, I don't know where I am...at the time I record this, I am sitting in a corner, going through a notebook, which was written in by a man named Carlos."

*shuffling, pages being flipped*

"I'm not certain, but he may be fictional. None of these things he's written about could possibly have happened. Glowing clouds that drop dead animals, a sentient shadow that runs a radio station, Secret Police, and another man, this time named Cecil. But...these things seem familiar.

Did I write this? Or have I just read this before? Or...no. That's impossible. It's physically impossible to have lived through things that have never happened. But...am I Carlos? There's no way to know.

Why don't I remember anything? Did I get a concussion or something? Probably. I get the feeling I'm pretty clumsy."

*sudden loud banging sound, panicked breathing*

"There's...there's someone at my door. What will I do if it's...if it's Cecil? It won't be. Cecil isn't real. Neither is Carlos. I...I'm just panicking. A lot. I can't..."

*Heavy breathing, sounds of a door being broken down*

"Carlos? Carlos? Are you alright?"

*Sharp inhalation, papers being dropped*

"C-Cecil? Is...Is that you?"

"Yes! Are you alright?"

"I-I'm...I'm Carlos. I'm...I'm the scientist? I...do science?"

"Yes? Carlos, are you okay? Oh, dark gods-is the power out? I-I heard hawks, but I just thought you were doing a ritual, or an experiment! Oh, Carlos I'm so...what are you doing?"

"You aren't real. You can't be. If I am a man of science, then I have to know that Night Vale can't possibly exist. You cannot possibly exist."

"Carlos? Carlos, look at me. I'm here. Let's just go outside, and you'll see Night Vale. As real as anything in this world we live in can be. Alright? Come on."

"No. Absolutely not. I can't just-what the hell are you doing! Put me dow-"

"See? Night Vale."

"No. I'm...I'm hallucinating. There's a dragon... This can't..."

"Shhh...Carlos, come on. Let me take you back to my place, make sure you're okay. You'll remember soon."

*Sniffling, small hitched breaths*

"Alright. I-I can't get much worse than this."


	7. The Drawbridge

Anything bolded and italicized is a direct quote from The Drawbridge.

* * *

Carlos is crying. He's _crying,_ listening to the radio and he's bent double, tears streaming down his perfect face. I don't understand-all that's being reported on is the drawbridge problem, and...wait... _wait!_ He's _laughing_.

I can't understand why. Maybe bridges are built differently where he comes from?

Carlos has finally got his laughter under control, and has picked up a pencil and some paper. I think he's drawing a diagram for the engineers.

_**"The revitalization of the Old Town Drawbridge experienced another setback this week, as engineers determined that the furniture upholstery used to construct the bridge towers soaks up water and creates an unstable foundation. This week's collapse was the third in as many months.** _

_**Construction crews have tried building the bridge tower base supports from corrugated cardboard, non-dairy creamer, and ceramic bowls. Nothing has worked.** _

_**Engineers are asking for help in determining how proper bridge towers are made. If you have any tips, please write them on notebook paper and mail them to** _

_**Bridge Magic, LLC** _   
_**PO Box 616** _

_**Do not use cursive or long words. Clearly labeled drawings are preferred."** _

Anyway, NVCR is doing its annual pledge drive for WZZZ and all the other community radio stations here in Night Vale. Actually, I think there are only the two stations, and nobody except for the people who use WZZZ's numbers actually listen to it, so I don't know how the pledges are divided. You have to buy a special, modified radio to even _get_ WZZZ, anyway.

Carlos is frowning at his radio, and picking up his lab's phone. He's looking around, as if checking to see that no-one is watching, and whispering "Forsaken Algonquinia" into the receiver. A tinny, mechanical voice is saying "Thank you for your donation, Carlos."

**_"To be honest, here at Night Vale Radio we don't know exactly what that station is for, or what master it is serving. But I do know that it is a vital part of this community, and we should pitch in to help it. We welcome your support._ **

**_Give us a call! We don't have a number; just whisper, "Forsaken Algonquinia" into your phone receiver, and Angels, or Facebook, or something, will deliver us an appropriate contribution from your bank account."_ **

I can't believe that Steve Carlsberg! What right does he have to deny this town a drawbridge? He never does anything for Night Vale, and here he is stating that simply because we don't have any boats, rivers or bays, it's a waste to build a drawbridge! Well, I tell you, this is coming from the stupid, lazy, little human who can't even take care of a puny mortal possession like a car!

_**"You know what? Forget it. I can tell you right now that that was Steve Carlsberg who said that, and he is such a spoilsport, that Steve! Have you ever noticed how he never replaces his hubcaps? It's laziness, pure and simple. Laziness. I just can't let him ruin our town by denying Night Vale a drawbridge when he can't even care for a tan Corolla!"** _

And the worst thing is, he's not the only one! The city council is getting torn up by citizens who don't understand things like municipal projects! All of our projects-the Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Center, the Night Vale Clock-tower- they went over budget and over schedule, but they all made us proud in the end! The Clock-tower keeps impeccable time, and the Harbor is a beautiful little addition to our town.

The Night Vale Daily Journal has started up their new Imagination Edition, and I was signed up for it. I don't think they realize that I'm not a citizen of Night Vale yet. For now, I live in the Dog Park- a completely separate place from Night Vale.

Either way, I'm really proud that they let me experience this full motion, body and color version of the news. It really makes keeping up with current events more fun, if not easier. I can't wait until I actually live there. It will make this new addition to my powers very useful.

**_"The Night Vale Daily Journal has announced that, due to spiraling printing costs, they will be replacing the print edition of the paper with a special new Imagination Edition. Editor Leanne Hart explains, "Instead of confining our customers to the outdated modes of ink on paper, we are allowing them to choose the news that interests them by imagining whatever news they want. This will not only save costs, but allow customers to experience the news as a full color, full motion experience taking place in a mental world that is tailored to their needs."_ **

I have to stop writing now-The One Who Openly Steals Babies wants us all to take a moment to hum out a deeply coded message asking the citizens of Night Vale for precious metals and toddlers. Only the darkest gods in the farthest reaches of the universe know what he wants with tiny humans and shiny things, but I'll help them anyway.


	8. The Lights

**This is from Carlos' journal.**

* * *

I missed a week in Night Vale, as I was at a scientific conference. Maybe something happened in that week, because on the weekend I saw some flickering lights in Radon Canyon. I'm concerned for Night Vale now, but I will get to that after this.

The conference was one my scientists and I scheduled to speak to an audience about this strange town. We were dismissed as fakes and raving crackpots, as was expected. Despite this, we got a five thousand dollar grant from an anonymous donor, along with a note saying "Stay vigilant. Night Vale is not all it seems." I'm not sure what that means-is it not a terrifying government controlled dystopia with temporal management problems? Because that's what it seems like to me. I don't understand.

Anyway, back to Radon Canyon. I visited Cecil Palmer, who speaks on the radio, and I asked for him to ask his Listeners-sorry, listeners, about the problems. Cecil is the strange humanoid I wrote about earlier in this journal, if whoever has been secretly reading this has forgotten. Anyway, I left immediately.

The Glow Cloud that passed over Night Vale has now joined the school board. It claims that it only passed over the town because it was looking for a good neighbourhood to raise a child. Yep. That is it. That is all I have to say. I mean, either than asking what the hell Cecil has against Steve Carlsburg. Like, this had nothing to do with Steve, but Cecil just brought him into it, saying that he needed to do more for his child. I wonder if there's something between them, because Cecil seems to really be obsessed in a really hate-filled way.

I'm not even going to talk about the Traffic segment. Nope. Not doing it.

A billboard with a picture of a turkey sandwich appeared in Mitzie's home. The Department of Health and Human Services claimed responsibility for them. Apparently these billboards once said things about sacrifices to lost gods. I honestly don't know what they have to do with long-dead gods, but whatever. I think I'm past the point of asking.

Cecil called me to tell me that the flickering lights were part of a Pink Floyd Multimedia Laser Spectacular. He sounded so nervous on the phone, so I jokingly said that it was worse than i had imagined. I think he thinks I was being serious. At least, that's what it sounds like on his broadcast.

Now onto sports. Apparently Desert Bluffs is complaining that Michael Sandero's second head is cheating because it counts as a twelfth man on the field. No-one thinks that the quarterback's now superhuman speed and agility is cheating. And they are questioning if appealing to Angels (which do not exist, evidently) counts as cheating.

A friend of mine, Vithya, used witchcraft to get me into Subway to try the new mashed potato sub. It was actually surprisingly good, but of course in Night Vale, even Subway couldn't be normal. There were several exits, each with a sign stating "This exit is a lie. Ignore it." And everyone was! There was one person, a Simone Rigado, who told me she had been trapped in there for weeks. I pushed her through the exit, even though she screamed and struggled against me. Once we were out, she gasped, thanked me, an ran off. I don't understand what happened there.

Apparently there wasn't a Pink Floyd Multimedia Laser Spectacular. In fact, the council stated in unison that Pink Floyd isn't a thing, they are not fans who used taxpayer funds to hold a laser powered séance to talk to Pink Floyd's frontman. I am taking this to mean that yes, this is what happened. I don't know why these people put up with this crap and ignore things like this. Like damn, they just told you they did something illegal! Whatever. We're not allowed to discuss it anymore, so I should stop writing about it before the Secret Policeman staring through my window sends me in for re-education.

The city under lane five is now brightly lit and it sounds like the underground people are on thier way up. Cecil then philisophically compared life to a basket of wings. Just another typical day in Night Vale. Goodnight, readers.

* * *

**HMM, I WONDER WHO'S READING CARLOS' JOURNAL**


End file.
